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Each step taken left the ghost of a wet boot print seeping into the fibers. The thick carpet had a sunken indent of each print left behind him, and if he were to turn around, he would see the straight, formative line leading to where he stood. Never faltering in his march, it was almost impossible to with how stiff the cold made him. Every move had to be taken with consideration until he warmed up.
Some of the snow on him had melted in the time it took to walk through the palace’s long and windy corridors. The grand halls took a lot of energy to heat and a moment to cross, but a fire burned in almost every room. Anthony felt himself to be the only thing carrying any heat or passion at his core in the hallways—like a bridge of energy between the endlessly sprouting destinations. He only stopped at the grandest doorway, where the arch-topped doors split open, facing him and breaking their arch to reach as tall as the moulding.
“Darling, are you in here?” He asked, but refused wait for a response. With the door open, Anthony’s eyes scanned the room from left to right, and he first lands on the fireplace. Sweet, burning flame. It’s almost as tantalizing as the second thing that sticks out to him: you, standing at the lengthy dining table. Your back was turned towards him, hands raised above the table to mess with something he couldn’t see. The smoke wafting up and soft crackle of firewood was just as tantalizing to Anthony’s cold hands as you were, and he couldn’t decide which to rush towards. Sure, his gloves worked, but they were leather and futile against long exposures against the harsh winter, especially with how cold they got when he forgot to leave them by the fireplace before leaving for his next outgoing visit. It was only when he ceased all movement and waited for you to make that decision for him that you turned to acknowledge his presence.
The object previously in your hands became clearer: it was a handcrafted ornament made of what looked to be stems of foliage plucked from the garden; now it laid on it’s side, waiting to be placed on a base. It matched the luscious and vibrant green touches placed all around the room and in the adjoining hall, with all of that work having been done by the housemaids. You were in charge of the more focused pieces—the type of things that everyone would orbit around and catch a glimpse of when stealing off of trays on the very dining table where the ornament laid.
Falling upon your eyes, he was dressed in two layers: the outermost layer being a black cloak that draped over his shoulders and down to the middle of his torso, while the tailcoat visible underneath ran down to the back of his mid-thigh. On the very top of his head was a matching, velvety soft black beaver hat that had a dusting of snow on it. It sat crooked, almost intentionally mischievous. Daring to be fixed, or removed.
Moving closer to Anthony felt like a ship nearing an iceberg, the sheer cold radiating off of him was enough to make you never want to leave the comfort of a warm room again. His jaw remained tight, just a few words escaping when he would eventually reply to you.
“Oh, Anthony…” A slight frown shifted your features down. Your hand cupped his rosy cheek, wiping at the budding blush spreading over his entire face. For the time being, it was there to stay.
“Put these by the fire for me.” He pulled them off by digging a thumb into the cuffs of each, keeping his hands stiff and barely bending his fingers to do so. You looked at his gloves, wondering why he wouldn’t keep them on. When your fingers grazed his cold ones in passing of the gloves, you understood why. “My hands are freezing.”
The strides taken to the fireplace are fast, and one of the gloves fell from the mantle and to the ground in your haste. You refused to turn and pick it up, though, instead meeting Anthony back where he stood. You had to keep him there, because eventually he would see it. The thing carefully placed as close to the door as possible. The thing that would turn Anthony’s mood around.
The backs of your hands lightly dusted snowflakes off his topcoat. “Are you alright? What caused this?”
“A limited quantity of belly-warmers is what caused this.” He complained with such vitriol, the final syllable echoed a hiss. “That, and the furs in the Williamson’s carriage were awfully spurious. Those things couldn’t keep the sun warm. The only thing that got me through the long journey was thinking of you, when I could actually think above the Baron’s insistence on making conversation.”
You let his hands wrap around you, and his cold expression towards the memory of the Williamson’s melts at the contact. Your clothes are more revealing than his to suit the type of environment you spent the day in, only donning a coat when necessary to go outside to the garden. Even with that brief exposure to the cold, you had ample time to warm up before his arrival. Now, much of your skin was exposed whilst staying modestly covered in all the areas that mattered. Almost becoming too warm when he grazed over the exposed regions, but it thawed his hands quickly. Not quick enough to regain his dexterity in his fingers, so you let him hold you for a moment. After all, it sounded as if he greatly missed your companionship, both physically and emotionally. Anthony looked to you, a smile spreading across his face as he let his hands run over you like a personal heater. Though, his eyes seemed to wander past yours and to the room, and when his brows furrowed, you knew that he immediately noticed it. A bushel of mistletoe sitting undisturbed on the back of the chair, the chair specifically placed at the middle of the dining table.
His tone started cold and stern, but quickly softened as he revealed the reason of his bitterness. “Of course you remember a childish thing such as that. But not what time I spoke of arriving.”
You did remember, just not in enough time to add the finishing touches to all of the decorations and meet him at the palace’s front steps. So now you were stuck, waffling. Defend it or admit defeat. You had already made up your mind by the times the word left your mouth, “It’s whimsical. You never know the outcome with those things.”
“Remind me again, what’s the purpose of it?”
“You should know!” You smacked his shoulder with discipline. “Free kisses for any two people that meet in the middle. It was a little too tall to hang it on the ceiling, so I felt that it’d look nice adorning the back of a chair.”
“Oh, I should have known that. I do now.” A soft crinkle comes to the edges of his eyes at learning new information, making an even better effort to absorb it since it was coming from your mind. He craved to know more. “How many kisses?”
With a question armed to answer his own, you asked, “How many berries are on it?”
“Three.” There was no follow-up, but he looked at you with intent eyes. Would he get all three now, or would you make him wait and save the kisses for another day?
“So you get one kiss now.” You explained, but noticed that he seemed too quick to jump into a happy reunion with you. Within a second of answering him, he was close to kissing you. You didn’t mean for it to literally happen now, but Anthony seemed intent on finding some way to warm himself up fast. Maximum skin-to-skin contact seemed to be his preferred way to do so.
Leaning closer, his face is full of one color: red. Despite that, his lips were ice cold on contact and dry. Soft and supple, but noticeably cracked. His skin craved moisture, clinging to yours for a fleeting second when he pulled away. You knew it was because of the environment, but you couldn’t help but imagine his lips trying to say that they missed you too. They yearned to be entangled with yours, and yours were as fatally attracted to his as a warm tongue against a cold metal streetlamp outside. The head of which would bring a light to his eyes.
“Yes, and…” His gaze stayed locked onto yours. Almost too eagerly, he asked, “Do I get another?”
“Only if you take it.” Your words had a double-entendre: he could take another berry off the mistletoe, spending the red little fruit on another kiss, or he could take the chance to kiss you this time. Anthony chose the latter.
Lips crashed into your skin, into your pulsing, red-hot neck. His mouth was less dry and his lips felt smoother as he introduced his tongue to your supple skin. Carefully, Anthony sucked in a bit of silky flesh for his teeth to work over, and his lips refused to disembark. The small, electric jabs of each nibble cleft your jaw. A moan escaped from your parted lips, and the next nip sent a shock down your spine.
“Anthony!” His name erupted from your mouth through the pain, but it was pointless. The sound traveled, going the distance to the dense ceiling beams and crashing to the floor after failing to take flight. If he could speak, it would be in his low, sultry bedroom-voice. And the words he would say sounded like the pedal point of a note over your trilling voice. With the thought so clear, it was as if he whispered in your ear while stimulating your neck with raw passion.
“Look at your chest swelling underneath me. Losing your breath…”; “Control yourself before I do it for you…”; “Will you—”
You had to stop yourself from thinking before you acted out of line, before you prompted sex with a shivery Anthony who could be too cold to wish for anything more than kisses at the moment. It was so easy to fall for the ghost of him, let alone how hard you fell for the real thing speaking to you. The worst part was that the Anthony in your head, all of the things he would say were things he could say, they were all unbearably true. You needed to find something to occupy your hands, otherwise you would have used them to push him away and drop to your knees the second his lips became a red mark on your neck.
Without anything else to do but let him play with your skin, your hands trailed his clothed arms. You had to let your fingers be your eyes to feel where the hems and seams ended, and the small, tightly-buttoned openings began. Too much clothing, he was wearing too much to make sense of it all. But you knew one thing to be true—his clothes were a barrier that would have to come off to the amount that you could remove, so your hands wandered down to his torso. A much grander journey in the roundabout of following his arms to his chest than his return home. Your eyes were still fixated on the room behind him, head turned to provide a broader canvas to mark, so only the tufts of his dark lingered in your peripherals. Occasionally, his dark attire would surface like a flooding tide of uncharted waters whenever his hold on you changed and his shoulder blades followed.
One could walk in and assume the sight was his method of attack, draining you of any and all life with how scant the sounds came from between his suctioned lips. It didn’t sound as passionate to your ears, but the feeling of his tongue and teeth made you skin burn in a euphoric way. Enough to make you interrupt his undressing with the occasional moan—even before you could get properly started.
His ‘attack’ made you delirious, because the second you started tugging at the buttons on his tailcoat, you remembered that he was densely layered from head to toe. Other things needed to be removed before you could untuck the shirt underneath his coat and undo his pants and—focus! Anthony needed your help undressing him, and that had to go in a certain order before you could think about anything else.
His hat came off easily, and it was a miracle that it didn’t fall off with his head tilted the way it was. But you were both standing diagonally, and he never quite let the hat rest perfectly straight on his head, so it was tipped in your favor. It rested straight now with his head tilted, so you grabbed the brim and set it down on the table. Thankfully, it was just shy of being an arm’s length out of reach. You noted the table’s distance for when things would inevitably progress.
The cloak was the next thing to come off and it slid down his body and onto the floor all in one action, only being held around his shoulders by a single knotted string. Tied just like how you taught him to after you saw his archaic method he had done for years before—it always ended in the strings bunching up together.
You ripped the buttons off the middle of his tailcoat when you could finally touch them. The metal snapped, making Anthony only suck your skin harder. Needier, but he just couldn’t pull away and deprive himself of you for a second to waste getting undressed. He let you continue undoing the fastenings until he had to do the rest with his arms, peeling it off by the sleeves. It joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor behind him. Just like his topcoat, he stayed connected to you while he removed it.
Lastly was his shirt, tucked in with polish. The only creases from it came from when he twisted and turned, but if he was standing still, it was perfectly tucked away to be as crisp as a freshly ironed shirt fitting over a broad-chested board. With balled fists full of linen, your hands pulled upward. This action brought Anthony’s shirt, and himself, up and away in both directions. You let go of his shirt and it fell over his pants.
The motivation to unravel all of his layers persisted, so much so, that you missed the absence of him on your neck. You missed the expressions on his face as he watched you continue, staring down at the buttons running in a straight line, like stepping stones, down to the treasure. And you were happily skipping down every sinking rock while revealing the prosperous loam underneath. The final layer—his core. It needed to be entirely gone and away to see him at his barest.
“Will you kiss my cock?” Thoughtless and breathless, it disrupts your flow when the words spill out in a haste. The request invaded your thoughts, and you realized that it did not come from your fantasy. This wasn’t would-be almost-convincingly-real Anthony audiation speaking, it was pure rich and sultry-silky-vocal-strings-like-a-harp Anthony. It was the real world, breeching into your head, like Anthony himself could read what you had in store for him next.
“What?” You had been taken over by the mastery be possessed with his mouth, and how he combined it with the knowledge of your sensitive spots. Anthony had pulled away a minute ago—evident by the stinging that was gone from your neck, and would likely only return when pressure was applied to it. He looked at you head-on now, only pressing his forehead to yours when he knew you were paying attention to him.
“I have asked you twice now.” His breath hit your lips, shallow puffs coming in waves. You registered his initial question about his dick, realizing that you could edge him by kissing him in this moment and pay for it later. The power was in your hands, and he proved that when he pleaded, “Please. I cannot bear the pressure anymore.”
“Ask once more.” Your hand cupped around the bulge in his pants. Suddenly, the desire to take all of his clothes off disappeared. As long as his brows creased and the rest of his features fit together to look impatient and fussed. You played dumb, “What do you want me to do?”
“…kiss my cock.” Anthony’s hands careened down the width of your shoulders to the small of your back, a light shakiness to them.
Then, the smallest details about him made sense; he was only shaking—no, trembling—because he was so needy for you. The symptoms of being in the cold subsided long ago, and now he was only lost in a blizzard of passion.
“What? I didn’t hear that.” Your hand slid up, fingers pinching the tip of his cock through his bulge.
Anthony shuddered, “Please, will you kiss my aching cock?”
You leaned close to him, whispering in his ear, “I love how hard you try for me, all you had to do was ask.”
Anthony expected you to keep your face close to him, kneeling with it inches away from his body the entire way down—possibly even breaking the kissing rule to plant a few along his bare chest. Instead, you took a step away from him.
His voice pained as he spoke, “What are you doing?”
“I have something in mind.” Your head gave a small, languid nod in the chair’s direction. Sitting gave him the disadvantage.
Anthony noticed it and immediately understood what it meant. He came closer, his lips heading straight on a collision course into yours to continue the passionate moment. He liked using his tongue to prepare your mouth before sucking him off, getting it used to the feeling of something so big about to invade it—but before you could let them crash-land, you held up a finger to stop him. “Ah-ah. Let’s not be avaricious.”
Quickly, your hand reaches for the chair. The chair holding such the very thing that incited this all. It has knobby spires on the top, acting almost like handles that allow you to drag it across the floor. Anthony let out a light huff at the action, his mouth creeping into a smirk on his rosy cheeks. Unsexy, but funny to him. It screeched and scuffed the floor, peeling at some of the white paint on the chair’s feet. The mistletoe bounced on the intricately designed, yet hollow, back of the chair. Not that Anthony would be sitting upright in it anyways. It was merely a resting place for his shoulders while he slouched forward, giving you a full access to everything. You could picture it now, but he had to be sat to make it a reality.
“You couldn’t let me do that?” He pouted. The need for control seeped out of him.
“Never.” You patted the chair’s seat. “Sit down and let me do the rest.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He said, rounding the chair and taking a seat. Anthony whipped and whirled his hands around the flaps of his unbuttoned shirt, pushing them back to leave his abdomen exposed. He spread his legs, creating an open invitation for you to slot yourself between them. Kneeling, Anthony’s gaze staring down at you made it feel like he was in control again. You had to keep him in check.
There was a small fob dangling off the waistband of his pants, and your hand wrapped around it, keeping your grip loose as if something bigger was meant to fill it.
Anthony watched you slowly tug on it, making motions that he could imagine feeling against his cock. He squirmed, “I must punish you for this.”
“It’s not like you can withhold anything from me, not when I can get it out of you.” It slipped out of your hands when you reached the end of the fob, and you chose to move on and give his cock the sweet release it had been craving. Your declaration was only the beginning of the challenge you were set on him losing.
Anthony’s cock sprung out, hard as a rock and quickly growing to maximum height from the confines of his pants. His pants were now splayed out, the flaps of each fly pulled in opposite directions. There was a noticeable lack of anything under his pants, making it much clearer why he had been so cold. He only acquired underwear a short time ago, and he opted most days to not wear any.
You leaned forward, raising your hips so that you were hovering over his cock. It would make it easier to bob your head up and down his length if you could put more than just your neck into it. That, and Anthony despised the look you gave him from under your lashes.
“What are you waiting for?” Anthony whined, and you could feel him throbbing. Merely holding him, teasing him with the feeling of your mouth so close that he could buck his hips and smear the budding pre-cum on your lips. But you had to open your mouth, and that wasn’t something he could force. So, Anthony stayed still and behaved for as long as he could. He couldn’t help that his patience only lasted a fraction of a second. Though you couldn’t say it, the answer was clear when he went to speak again but was promptly silenced by a moan making him lose the words playing on his lips. To catch him off guard.
The tip of his cock was slightly skinnier than the rest of his dick, so while it divided your lips, it was his girth that stretched them. You watched his knees buckle, quickly shifting inward for a second before he spread them wide again. The feeling of first contact was like melting iron meeting an even hotter furnace.
With haste, Anthony’s hand shot down and gripped the side of the chair, white-knuckling it so hard that he could rip a piece of the wooden grain off clean. The words he wanted to use for how good you felt sucking him off came to his mind, pumping straight from his rapidly rising chest, but none of them made it past his own lips in a coherent way. The best you could do were use the pieces of what he said as encouragement. “Mm—Hon—oh—Darli—nngh.”
Anthony couldn’t get enough of the way you slicked half of his length. He marveled at how much you could take of him in your mouth, and how good the simple motion of bobbing up and down felt on it. Your tongue was smooth, cradling the underside of his dick with conformity. And the occasional run along the roof of your mouth—done with help by your tongue—pressed his tip against the solid surface, sparking a bundle of euphoria at the edge of his dick that was felt in the pit of his stomach.
You pulled off of him. He was close, and you couldn’t have him shooting too soon.
“Ah!” He cried. Upon his eyes opening, he saw you with your head turned, lips locked on his inner-thigh. His cock glistened, exposed for the first time since entering your mouth. He gritted his teeth, holding back another gasp of pain. “That’s devious of you.”
“I’m simply returning the favor.” Your mark on him would be much lighter, but after a moment of making out with his smooth skin, you pulled away. It was already showing a light sign of bruising, and you patted it with your hand with two taps for an extra effect. “Now, we’ll match.”
“It’s an extra kiss.” Anthony pointed out your rule breaking. He was not pleased by you edging him to this point, not when he was so close to his release. He huffed. “Furthermore, you’d have to be seen between my legs for anyone to know that we’re matching.”
“You see me, don’t you?” For an extra measure, you leaned into his crotch and smacked his girth on the side of your face. Anthony loved the sight, enough to shoot his load over it with each smack shaking him to eruption. His cock craved contact, and even the side of your face would do as half as good as your mouth felt in this very moment.
“I do, and you look awfully good where you are. Now please, continue with your sorcery.” It all came out in one breath, but there was still enough in his chest to plead each word with a hint of displeasure.
Your lips returned back to hovering over his dick, ghosting him once again. Would you listen to him, or would he have to make you? Anthony’s hips twitched, but just as they jumped forward, you reeled your head back. “How painful of a position this is for you to be in.”
“Darling.” Anthony contested, knowing the idea of making you do anything was fruitless. You knew him enough to anticipate when he tried.
“I know what you’re thinking, Anthony.”
“You do?”
“Don’t cum yet.” As you said that, you slowly tugged on his wet girth, occasionally rounding the head of his dick and pressing your palm flat on it. Giving him something to rut into.
He droned the words in an effort to distract himself from the fact that he was about to burst by your hand. “That’s impossible.”
The chance of him holding back lessened the second your mouth enveloped him again. You were back to bobbing along his length, using your entire upper body to deliver the motion with a certain impact and force that made the chair shift on its tight screws.
The next thing you did was just a simple motion, but it made Anthony lose all composure: twirling your head around his pole, combining it with the motion of pinning his dick to the roof of your mouth again. The friction made Anthony roll his head back, dangling off the back of the chair. You could see his jaw tense, then move. Soft platitudes levitated from him, indiscernible.
It were as if he was talking to no one, or rather, the figment of you in his head because the real you was occupied three rungs down the ladder of intimates—lips, chest, abs—with your ears ringing with the sound of an increasingly wetter blowjob. The things he could say were endless, from tall orders to simple fulfillments. All begging, all leading to a more simplistic desire that slowly turned into a whimper. “Please, I must come!”
Despite his intent fervor, he never took control of the issue he so desperately needed to be released from. His resolve was right there: grab your head, shove you down, and let himself go. But he never let his grip slip from the chair’s side, no matter how sweaty his palms got with heated pleasure.
You decided to let him come when you knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Being away from you, for as long as his journey had been, it was to be expected that his tolerance could only be stretched so thin. That line could only be walked so far, and judging by how Anthony’s legs lost composure in your peripheral vision, this was the end of the line.
Devolving, Anthony started to shake. His chest heaved, audible gasps slipping out beyond his control. You could see his thighs spasming, trying to keep his boots firmly planted on the ground so he wouldn’t twist and jerk in different directions. Urgently, your head buried itself deep, going down his length until your nose hit his pubic bone.
At his climax, he faced the dichromatic sensation where they felt unreal and detached from his body but equally present and needing to be moved; a black as dark as his clothing, a place where this void existed and anything and everything was being sucked down by your skillful mouth, yet, on the other side, this warm intensity where the lights could get so bright that he could see white, a white as pure as snow that numbed his body and made him feel unreal.
The only thing he could feel for a few seconds was his twitching dick, shooting ropes of cum into your mouth—a moan matching each lasso over your tongue as he spewed it all out, and you swallowed each. The feeling of it was much greater than what his dick did, so keeping up with his endless load was easy. The orgasm lasted a moment but what was considered a painfully quick few seconds on both sides. He tipped the peak and was rolling downhill, only clear when small globs of cum trailed over your tongue as you pulled off of him.
Your mouth came off with a soft tooitsch, a squelching sound more audible than when your lips were locked around his dick and the noises escaped from the corners of your mouth. Strings of saliva and cum mixed together connected his softening cock to your lips, breaking and swinging down to cling to your chin. You wiped those loose strands away with the back of your hand and picked up Anthony’s messy cock with two fingers.
“We shouldn’t let it go to waste.” You said, with a smirk. You weren’t as concerned with letting it go to waste or watching it spread over his balls and make an even bigger mess as you were watching Anthony’s reaction to your tongue giving one good lick over his shortening length. He winced. His cock was beyond sensitive now, and taking your time to clean it was torture for him.
Soon, after it was cleaned to the best of your tongue’s ability, you rose to your own two feet. You leaned forward and kissed Anthony on the lips for the fourth and final kiss, expressing admiration, “You did so well.”